SPAIN: VOTERS SAY 'S

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One of Suárez's first acts was to recommend to the King a partial amnesty that affected some 800 political prisoners (170 more have since been freed or exiled to Western European countries). He engineered the national referendum that paved the way for last week's elections after adroitly maneuvering the old rubber-stamp Cortes into voting itself out of existence by approving a reform bill that provided for a new bicameral parliament. After abolishing the National Movement, Suárez moved to legalize the Communist Party, convinced that the Communists were more of a threat outside the system than in it—and aware that there would be protests in Western Europe if they were barred from political participation. In a deft stroke of timing, he chose Easter weekend, when most of Spain was on holiday, to act. So stunning was the news that the Radio Nacional announcer sputtered through the first bulletin in disbelief.

There were rumors of a military coup, but after a tense meeting, the conservative Army Superior Council agreed to accept the government's decision "for patriotism's sake." Exiles were given passports to return home. Carrillo led the way, followed by others, including La Pasionaria from Moscow and Communist Poet Rafael Alberti from Rome. This spring Suárez's government legalized trade unions and restored the right of workers to strike. Finally, it reestablished diplomatic relations, severed since 1939, with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe.

Suáve, shrewd and cool under pressure, the movie-star handsome Premier lives with his attractive brunette wife Amparo and their five children in Moncloa Palace, the elegant official residence outside Madrid. A crack tennis player in his now rare leisure time, he regularly puts in 16-hour days, conferring frequently with Juan Carlos in a working relationship that insiders describe as one of "closest harmony."

Yet no one seems to know him very well. His staff is small, and he rarely sees the press. Explains one of his assistants: "He has been a public man, but one in a cage." He has had reason to be cautious, and he knows that his country faces difficulties ahead. But he also believes that Spain's political evolution is irreversible.

In today's Spain, political change is only half the story. As if to make up for their long night of denial, Spaniards are luxuriating in the arts, in a taste for consumer goods, in a relaxation of old mores. The new freedom has already spurred a renaissance in journalism and film. Burger Kings and jeans are in. Only two years ago, a policeman ordered a picture of Goya's Naked Maja removed from a bookstore window because it was "filth." Today the operative word is des-tape (uncovering)—as the stacks of gamy magazines on newsstands amply demonstrate.

Since Franco's death, Madrid has sprouted two combative new dailies, El Pais and Diario 16, and a host of snappy magazines like Interviu and Opinion. Theatergoers have been able to see hitherto forbidden plays by Federico Garcia Lorca and Bertolt Brecht. Moviegoers have flocked to such films as Songs for After a War, a documentary on the Franco era, Carlos Saura's Cousin Angelica, a thoughtful flashback to civil war divisions, and Charlie Chaplin's The Great Dictator.